Lost Souls
by hbelle4580
Summary: Otherhunters, werewolves, secret dimension, murderous alphas, and a scheming Grimm Reaper. Remington had no idea meeting Peter Hale would land her in such a massive pile of shit.
1. 1

-unedited-

Remington sighed loudly, her eyes shut tightly in hope that the man before her would disappear. Her eyes flashed open, the navy darkening in anger when they landed on a familiar- and smug- face.

"What do you want?" Her lip pulled up slightly, flashing her teeth in a feral snarl at the lanky man. He scratched at his beard, a small smile tugging at overly thin lips, as he gestured to the onyx paper resting on her desk. The small slip fluttered slightly in the breeze from her ceiling fan, teasing her.

"You wouldn't believe where the job is." He chuckled and Remy closed her eyes again, dread building in her stomach. The embossed golden letters stared back at her when she finally looked down. Inwardly, Remy wanted to scream. To cuss and wail in anger at the man who called himself her boss.

"I haven't been in the field in years." She snarled. The man's eyes, a dark grey that reminded her of dirty dishwater, twinkled with sadistic glee.

"You knew the day was coming. You're responsible for him." He melted away, the grey of his suit dissolving into the marble floor.

"I hate it when he does that." She grumbled, "It always leaves a stain." She sighed loudly picking up the black ticket as she pulled on her navy peacoat. Her heeled boots clicked against the cool marble flooring of the building as she headed towards a single, golden elevator. She hummed impatiently, twirling a single, electric blue strand of hair around her finger as the elevator neared her floor.

When the doors opened she was greeted by a deep, baritone voice that seemed to travel through her bones, shaking her entire being. "Remington. Just the girl I was looking for." Her boss stared down at her with empty eyes.

"Castor gave you the ticket I assume?" He questioned as she stepped onto the elevator with him, pressing the first of the hundreds of golden buttons on the panel.

"Yes. He did. Why are you sending me back. I haven't been a field agent in years." She kept her balled fists stuffed in her jacket pocket, easily hiding the anger that wanted to leak into her voice.

"It will be your last assignment. After this collection I want your letter of resignation and your badge." He brushed imaginary dust of his midnight suit, long, skeletal fingers sweeping over the lapels gently.

Remy couldn't speak. Her throat suddenly seemed to be as dry as a desert, but her eyes held more than enough moisture for both. "I'm your best agent. I was the best-"

"Yes, was the best." He stressed, voice dry and dull, but his face held a look of sinister delight. "I won't be seeing you again Remington."

The doors dinged open at precisely that moment, allowing the towering man to exit without a word, leaving Remy in a stunned silence. Clouds floated above her, the blue sky appearing a lot less beautiful when the full severity of her situation dawned on her. The dark ticket fluttered in the wind, the golden lettering shining in the early morning light.

Her eyes traced over the large curling script with unrestrained anger. "This is your fault." She seethed.

'Peter Hale'

-Beacon Hills

That was all that was printed on the small slip, but the name was as familiar to her as her own face, for Remy had cursed it from the day she met the blue eyed man to whom it belonged. He had escaped her- ruined her life- and now she had to make a final collection.

Despite the fact she knew her career and existence would end after her second meeting with Peter Hale, Remy found a bitter smile tugging at her lips. She would not be the only one to go tonight, and in that she found a sick, twisted sense of satisfaction.

Remy appeared within in a large clearing. People were scattered around and a large house, one that she easily recognized, sat, burnt to a crisp. The sadly familiar smell of burning flesh filled her nose as navy eyes took in the charred body of Peter Hale. She neared his body, invisible to the others, but the blue eyed man could not take his eyes off hers.

He remembered her from the night he lost everything that had mattered to him. Peter could still remember the sad look that her dark eyes held as her hair surrounded her like a neon halo. Now, he saw something else in her eyes. Guilt. Anger. Glee. They seemed to wage a battle across her angelic features.

Peter Hale was no idiot. He knew the blue haired beauty was anything but an angel. "Here to take me away?" He choked out before he watched as his nephew walked through the girl, his eyes glowing with something else entirely. Hunger. Derek Hale wanted power and Peter was the perfect one to give it to him.

"Go ahead. I can smell it on you." Derek didn't hesitate, his clawed fingers ripping away at the flesh of his uncle's throat. Peter felt the pain. It was sharp and hot, making his body jerk with the intensity of the sensation. Remington wasted no time in kneeling next to him, her lips turned down in a frown.

"It seems your time is finally up, Peter." She placed a single kiss on his lips a whitened mist spilling from her lips into his. As she drew away, Peter's body stilled and only Remy could see the soul pealing away from his burnt body. She watched as the glowing wisp continued on its destined path skyward before it stopped and began to quiver. Her brows, the same electric blue as her hair, drew down low over her eyes as confusion set it.

"That's not right." She muttered. Wide eyes watched in horror as the soul changed its path, zipping towards the town at a speed she would not be able to follow. Desperation set in. She had, for the second time in her life, failed at a collection. Remy knew that no matter what, she had to collect the soul of Peter Hale.


	2. 2

-unedited-

Lydia Martin was scared. She closed her eyes tightly, shutting out the dim rays of the rising sun. Words of prayer, indistinct and hurried, fell from her chapped lips as she peeled open her eyelids. Only for a strangled sob to break free when she saw that the woman, the one that had haunted her dreams, was still there- standing in her front yard with her electric hair tangled around her frowning face.

The first dream happened the night after Peter Hale was declared dead.

She had been standing in the middle of a battlefield, screams of pain and terror ringing in her ears. All around her, people fought, and in the center of it all was a woman with eyes like a night sky. She cut through the bodies with a grace that was both awe inspiring and terrifying, he face caked with blood and gore. The dream shifted to the same woman, except this time she held her blood soaked hands together in a prayer, tears racing down her face as she kept her head bowed.

"Please, if you're listening, help me. I don't know what to do." Her sobs were cut off by a cloaked man. He stood over her, darkness leaking from his robes.

"All help comes with a price." The image had begun to fade a the edges and the last thing she had saw was the tear streaked face of the female warrior and her pained screams as the whole scene bled away like a watercolor painting, leaving Lydia awake and panting with image of the woman's pained eyes filling her head.

She had first noticed her in school, the brightness of her hair standing out in the crowd. Lydia didn't give it much thought, after all, she had bigger problems than a mysterious woman, like her rapidly declining mental health. Then she noticed that the woman was everywhere, and only she could see her. That was when she caught sight of her eyes- a dark navy that looked like the sea during a storm- just like the warrior in her dreams.

The woman couldn't be real, she reasoned with herself, just a figment of her imagination. With each passing day, Lydia felt her sanity slip away, piece by piece. She had suffered enough, hadn't she? So why must an invisible woman be added to the list of things that made her life hell?

She shook her head, as if she could physically remove the morbid thoughts from her head. Squaring her shoulders, she pulled the curtains closed, blocking out the sight of the woman. _Put on your mask. Don't let them see your weakness._ She repeated the mantra to herself, steeling her resolve and smearing the concealer underneath her eyes, hiding herself beneath the facade of someone who was full of confidence. Except the real her, the terrified one that was holding on by a thread, couldn't remember the last time she felt normal.

Stiles was confused. Though it was an emotion he had become familiar with since his best friend had started randomly growing hair and fangs, he was more confused than usual. At first, he assumed they were just hallucinations, a result of his lack of sleep and caffeine addiction. That was until he came home to a trashed room with one of _them_ standing in the middle of it all.

They looked like everyone else in most aspects, varying in height and coloring. It was what they were missing, what really set them apart, that really disturbed Stiles. The people, if they could be called that, were faceless. Instead of a nose and eyes and cheekbones, there was a blank canvas. Just smooth skin and a small, lipless slit for a mouth- one full of sharp ebony teeth, which he had the unfortunate experience of becoming up close and personal with.

It wasn't just the faceless that confused him, though they mostly scared him shitless, it was that other than trashing his room, they didn't do anything but stare (can they stare without eyes?) from afar. When he had walked in on the tall tanned one that destroyed his room, it had simply hissed at him, displaying those needle-like teeth in all their glory, before flickering out of existence.

What made it worse, the metaphorical icing on top of the metaphorical cake, was that he seemed to be the only one that could see them. No one else seemed alarmed by the faceless figures, but it also appeared that the monsters weren't very interested in the general population- they only watched him and his pack. He wasn't exactly sure what they wanted, why they came to Beacon Hills, or if they had already been here, but he was determined to figure it out. After all, nothing excited him more than a mystery.

Death. That was all that Scott McCall could smell. It seemed to follow him, filling his nose and coating his tongue with the thick acidic scent. It reminded him of a mix between rotten eggs, old meat, and a sharp scent that made his chest ache and his eyes water. The smell of it overpowered everything, and mixed with the gritty, metallic smell of blood, he thought about cutting his nose off just to be rid of the stench.

He wasn't sure why it was all he could smell, or why it was stronger around his friends, but he feared that the blood and death was a sign- a warning of what was to come- and he was anything but prepared to handle whatever it was that he felt brewing.

Pain and darkness were all that Anne knew. Once, she had been surrounded by love and warmth, but now she belonged to a world where death was as commonplace as the very air that filtered through her lungs. It was kill or be killed in this world, she often found herself saying, but that did nothing to ease her guilt at the rapidly increasing body count. She called herself a survivor- one of the few that beat back the evil that had invaded and came out whole in the end. But, she wasn't whole, not anymore at least. Eventually, she couldn't tell if she killed for survival or fun.

 _Survival._ That was what she repeated to herself as she stared at the distorted image of a blonde boy- one that had often haunted her dreams. _Survival._ She gripped the thick maroon strap between her scarred fingers.

"I don't want to survive anymore." Her words received no reply, because Anne, like always, was alone. " I want to _live_." She touched the mirror, though it didn't reflect her image back at her, but of _him_. " I want to go home."

She stepped through the mirror, her limbs passing through the glass like it was water. As she passed through, a crack appeared along the dirty glass. Then another and another until the mirror shattered completely, raining glass down on the blood soaked ground, peppering the mangled body of a shaggy haired teen.

Anne breathed deeply as she stepped out on the other side, her lungs filling with non polluted air for the first time in ten years. Her dirt caked feet dug into the plush carpet, leaving dark streaks in the pale cream color. Her eyes, a hauntingly pale blue, flickered through the room, taking in the large bed and expensive decor.

"Who the fuck are you?' A male voice growled and Anne smiled slowly, her dirty ebony locks swirling around her as she turned to face the familiar face. He frowned deeply, covered by nothing but a white towel as her held a cast iron poker in trembling hands. Anne only smiled wider at the sight of him, He was older now, but she'd recognize her brother no matter how old he was.

"I'm home. I'll be damned, it actually worked." The blonde boy frowned slightly before recognition took ahold of his features. Green eyes wide in shock, he dropped the poker. The usually glaring irises clouded over with tears as he took in the bloodstained and dirt caked clothes covering her body. Her face, once healthy and unblemished was now pale and littered with scars.

He held out a shaking hand, touching her cheek as if to make sure she wasn't a figment of his imagination. Her own tears spilled over, washing away the grime that covered her face and leaving streaks in their wake.

"Anne?" He whispered, and for the first time since he found out he was adopted, he felt his lips stretching into a genuine smile.

"Hey little brother." She chuckled, letting her bag drop to the ground. "I'm finally home."

Remington felt the change in the air. She glanced over to the teens, watching as they laughed and smiled, and felt her stomach twist. There was a war on the horizon, she could smell the promise of blood in the air and knew that the smiles wouldn't last long. Whatever was going on in Beacon Hills was part of something bigger and she shivered at the thought of what was to come, of what the inhabitants of the small town would face. But, for now, she left them be, left them to their child-like ignorance and unrestrained happiness, because it would be these moments that they clung to as their lives became overrun with the death and destruction she had long ago become accustomed to.


	3. 3

-unedited-

Stiles paced along the hallway of the McCall house, his blood pounding in his ears. He might have come to terms with his best friend's wolfiness, but he still couldn't control the blind terror that seized him every time his life was being threatened.

"Allison. Call Scott. Now." The brunette scrambled for her phone, cursing lowly. Stiles, however, couldn't tear his gaze from the four leather clad nightmares standing across the street. He had come to the conclusion that Derek took the whole 'bad boy werewolf' persona to an extreme, with the excess leather and constant frowning. Not to forget how he had a habit of speaking in half truths and colorful threats.

"Scott's on his way." The words had barely even left her mouth before there was a knock on the door. The pair traded equal looks of confusion. Scott would never knock on his own door, but neither would Derek and Co.- they were more of a kick the door down and roar in your face kinda crew.

Swallowing thickly, Stiles peeked out the window, confronted by the sight of bright blue hair. He looked back to Allison.

"It's a girl." He whispered. "With _blue_ hair." Another knock, this one a lot louder.

"Well..answer it." Stiles sputtered. Had she lost her mind? With all the beasties crawling in Beacon Hills, she wanted him to let a total stranger in the house? Idiots, the whole lot of them. If they all listened to him, half of this shit would never have happened.

"Fine!" He shook a finger at her," But if we both die, I'm haunting your ass!" Turning back to the closed door, he took a few moments to compose himself before swinging the door open with a wide smile.

"Hi. Can I h-" His throat seemed to close up at the sight of the woman. She glared up at him, her pale features settled into one of the angriest expressions he'd ever seen. The unrestrained anger and frustration in her face froze him in Hale had nothing on this chick.

"No, you can't." She pushed past him into the hallway. "But I can help you. Or well, I have to, but technicalities. As long as I keep your ass from becoming kibble bits it doesn't really matter why I'm here. " Her voice was cold and clipped, but she talked so quickly Stiles felt like if she didn't slow down he'd suffer from verbal whiplash.

"Wait, wait, wait. Just who in the hell are you?" Allison raised her crossbow and aimed at the blue haired stranger. She raised a single electric brow, her navy eyes looking from Allison to Stiles to the crossbow.

"Aren't you listening? I'm the person that's going to save your pretty little ass. Now, unless you want that crossbow shoved in some very uncomfortable places you'd do best to put it down, capice?" She smiled as Allison hesitantly lowered the weapon, but the expression was more chilling than comforting.

"Well not that we aren't very grateful for you saving us. I think Ali was asking for your _name_." Stiles stressed the word, his voice flat and his eyes hard. He wasn't sure where the sudden bravery came from. At first, the woman had sorta scared him, but there was something about her that just put him on edge. She growled lowly at him as she removed her coat, revealing pale arms covered in swirling tattoos. For a second, Stiles swore he saw the inky lines _move_.

"Remington, but you can call me Remy. Most people do." She paused. "Or they did before."

"Before what?" The two teens asked simultaneously. She frowned at them, her previous expression of obvious irritation returning.

"Nothing that matters to you lot." She smoothed down the stray curls and released a deep breath. Remington felt different- her previous vitality, back before her life had went to hell, was returning. But things wouldn't stay this way, Grimm made sure of that, unless she did what he wanted.

"What really matters is protecting you and that little redhead you got up there with Mr. I use too much hair gel."

It was safe to say that the two friends were utterly confused at this point. Remington spoke in a way where she answered a question but at the same time didn't really divulge any of the needed information. She was a whirlwind of energy, Stiles could feel it, radiating from her skin and filling the air.

"Why do you want to help us exactly? I doubt it's from the kindness of your heart. So what exactly is in this for you?" Stiles shot off, his voice rising gradually. "Better yet, why should we trust some random woman that appears out of nowhere?"

Remy seemed to think for a second, her head tilted to the side as she observed him, before a suspicious grin spread over her lips, making her eyes light up in a sort of sadistic amusement.

"Because," she purred, "You have no choice. Besides, you trust me. Don't tell me you don't feel it." She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply with a look of ecstasy. "The pull you feel towards me, how I set your teeth on edge, how your whole body is alive, and your skin is electrified. Because I know I sure do."

Stiles couldn't deny what she said. He could feel the way his body was attracted to hers, or how she seemed oddly familiar to him. Being around the woman made him feel something that terrified him. For the first time in his life, Stiles was not afraid, nor did he feel weak. No, he felt strength coursing through his veins, he felt strong almost _inhuman._

"That's not trust, it's attraction. And it still doesn't tell me why you want to help us." He stared at the woman, not backing down, something that surprised Allison. She had known Stiles for a while, and though she cared about him deeply, he was not one to normally be he would protect those he cared about, but he did it while looking like he would faint any second.

Remington, however, was not surprised. She felt a sense of satisfaction at the boy's steely response. It was progress. She smiled at him, a genuine smile, and her eyes glowed with excitement.

"Because you two, the redhead and you, are going to help me get my job back."

A Few Hours Before

Frustrated did not begin to describe the way Remington felt. She cursed the day she was assigned to reap the soul of Peter Hale. Had it not been for him, for that particular night, she would still be at the top of the Reaper hierarchy, not chasing after a bunch of teenagers in hopes of capturing said man's soul.

She knew it was trapped within one short redhead, the bright cerulean mass was tangled with her own fiery red soul. She could never figure out why the man, as twisted and devious as he was, had such a bright beautiful soul. She also couldn't figure how to remove it without killing the girl, something that was a big no-no. In fact, any unassigned murders were strictly against the rules, and though she was no longer a reaper, it was a one way ticket to purgatory- somewhere she most definitely did not want to be.

Sighing to herself, she walked after the girl as she made her way to class, glaring hatefully at the various teenagers that littered the halls. Though she wasn't much older than them when she obtained immortality, she had always despised their age group. Even when she had been a human they had been insufferable.

" You know I never would have imagined that you would stoop so low as to trail after a _human_." Remington whirled around, coming face to face with the only man that could conjure as much hate in heart as Peter Hale- her boss, The Grim Reaper. She always preferred to call him Grimm, something that had irked him endlessly.

"They're not so bad." She mused. "We were all once human." The tall man tsked lightly, his thin lips pulled up in a half smirk.

"Ah, ah. Except you weren't. Human that is." He cast his gaze along the hallway, frowning as several people passed through him. Then his expression seemed to soften into something Remy had never seen before. She tracked his gaze to the redheaded Lydia Martin.

" I have a deal for you, Remington." She turned to face the man with a tight frown.

"I'm listening." The smile that Grimm decided to grace her with would forever stay embedded in her memory for the rest of her life. She had known the Grim Reaper for a long time and in that time she had known him to smirk or grin in either sadistic glee or simple pleasure, but never had she seen him actually _smile_.

A cold feeling started in the pit of her stomach, but she swallowed it. If Death was willing to make a deal with her, then it was important, and it also meant that his other Collectors couldn't complete the job. Remington felt something inside her awaken as she listened Grimm's proposition.

A war is coming to Beacon Hills and she was to ensure that it would be a _bloodbath._


	4. 4

-unedited-

Remington smiled at the two teens, relishing the look of horror on their faces as her teeth began to lengthen. Grimm had upheld his part of the bargain, and now she had a job to do. Flexing her fingers, she turned to the hazel eyed boy that she was tasked to protect.

"I don't suppose you'd be okay with me killing them?" Her dark eyes traced over his face, watching as a sort of disappointed resignation settled over his features. Stiles sighed.

"No killing." She frowned but a flicker of mischief glimmered in his eyes. "But i'm not opposed to a little maiming." He had barely finished his sentence before she was racing to meet Isaac, who had crept around the back.

The blonde boy barely had time to react as she crashed into him with growl, her eyes shining with blood lust. The two tumbled through the house as they grappled, knocking over tables and pictures, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. Stiles watched on as she towered over the beta, her mouth a mess of needle-like fangs as she released a sharp, shrill cry.

It was a strange sound, one that dug its fingers into Stiles' mind and clawed along his skin like a physical thing. Not far away, at the Whittemore estate, Anne lifted her head, her ears ringing with the familiar battle cry and Scott McCall hurried his pace, realizing exactly where the noise was coming from.

Seizing the teen by his neck, Remington whispered something in his ear, causing the teen to stiffen before she tossed him at the feet of a very dissatisfied Derek Hale. Erica wasn't far behind.

Taking her place among the McCall pack, Remington glowered at the green eyed Hale. Much like his uncle, Derek was already becoming a thorn in her side, but she grinned at the man nonetheless. She knew he'd pose no threat to her plans because, sooner or later, he'd be just as dead as the rest of his family.

As Derek argued with the future true alpha and even as the kanima made it's appearance, Isaac Lahey didn't move from his position on the ground. Even as the sound of sirens and screeching tires filled the air, he couldn't bring his limbs to even twitch. He was terrified, paralyzed by the words the beast of a woman had whispered in his ear.

I know what you did, little wolf. Her eyes had shone with the satisfaction of his horror- of his grief and pain. She knew what he had done, but the only question that plagued him was: _How?_

Anne tightened her grip on the wheel of her brother's Porsche. The scream that had colored the air had been so hauntingly familiar, she felt that for a moment, she had been back _there,_ back to the place she had fought tooth and nail to escape. She had wasted no time in racing to find her brother and prayed that he would be safe from the creature which the cry belonged to.

She felt her body fall back into a familiar pattern as she ran red lights and screeched around sharp turns. Her heart beat slowed, her breathing evened out, and her limbs tensed with the promise of a fight. She was a killer forged by war and if anyone had hurt her brother, there would be hell to pay.

Skidding to a stop in front of the McCall house, she jumped out, crystal eyes blazing in anger. Marching up to the shocked Scott, she wrapped the fabric of his shirt in her fist, pulling him down to her height.

" Where the hell is my brother?" He froze beneath her stare, but it was the voice she heard next that made her whole body tremble

"Anne?" She turned slowly around, her stomach dropping as she came face to face to someone she had once loved so deeply, that when she heard he was dead, her world had split in two. It seemed though, that in this world, the dead never really stayed dead.

"Derek?"


End file.
